


A Nightingale Sang in Mission Grove Park

by defyinggravitee



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cecil is Human, Frottage, Jazz Music, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, bottom! Cecil, creative multitasking, top! Carlos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 18:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11834706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defyinggravitee/pseuds/defyinggravitee
Summary: When an old jazz standard starts playing on infinite loop throughout Night Vale, Cecil's convinced he's going to lose his mind listening to it. Carlos comes up with a plan to create a more positive association with the tune.





	A Nightingale Sang in Mission Grove Park

**Author's Note:**

> Back in May I went through a phase where I couldn't stop listening to Harry Connick, Jr.'s version of "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square," and I felt strongly that there needed to be Cecilos porn about it. You can listen to the song[ here ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pm24D7lyMT8) if you're so inclined.

_"There were angels dining at the Ritz/and a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square…"_

"That's it!" Cecil said, flinging himself onto the mattress and pulling a pillow over his head. "I've officially gone insane. The glow cloud, the subway, civic re-education—I can stand it all, but this is too much!"

"Oh, don't be such a drama queen," Carlos teased, sitting on the bed next to his splayed-out husband.

"I'm serious, Carlos. This is maddening."

It was one of those things that just happened sometimes in Night Vale. Nearly 24 hours ago, Harry Connick, Jr.'s rendition of "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square" had started playing throughout the town, not through any speakers or anything, just playing, the sound traveling in rippling waves through the hot desert air. At first it had seemed like a pleasant anomaly—after all, it was a much nicer sound than the shrieking the sun made when it came up, and they listened to that every day—but the thing was, it hadn't stopped. The song had kept playing on infinite loop. For almost a full day. And Cecil wasn't having it.

"I think it's nice."

"The first few times, maybe. It must have played a thousand times by now! How are you not sick of it?"

"Two hundred and eighty-seven."

"What?"

"Two hundred and eighty-seven. The song has played two hundred and eighty-seven times."

"That's two hundred and eighty-six times too many." Cecil pressed the pillow even harder down on his ears.

"I like this song," Carlos said, gently taking the pillow from Cecil's hands. "And it's a nice change of pace from the usual, life-threatening sort of mysteries in Night Vale."

"Carloooos," Cecil whined, reaching for the pillow.

"I bet I can get you to like this song," Carlos said.

Cecil narrowed his eyes, skeptical. "How so?"

"I can't tell you what I'm planning. That will give it away."

"I don't believe you have a plan."

"Cecil," Carlos said, feigning offense. "A scientist always has a plan."

"OK," Cecil said, intrigued despite himself. "Let's say you do manage to convince me to like it. What then?"

"Then, you stop complaining about this music and…"

"And?"

"Cook dinner for me."

"Carlos, you know I'm not much of a cook."

"I know. But you look cute in an apron."

"And if I'm right? If you can't get me to like it?"

"Whatever you want, babe."

Cecil thought for a moment.

"If I win…you let me spend the day at your lab. Watching you do science."

Cecil had a tendency to be a bit… _destructive_ in the lab, which was why Carlos usually restricted how much time he let his husband spend there. It wasn't his fault; he just got terribly distracted watching Carlos work and didn't always notice things like open flames or nearby glass objects.

"Done," Carlos said, hoping desperately that his plan was as foolproof as he hoped. Nilanjana would never forgive him if he let Cecil into the lab for an entire workday.

"All right, Mr. Scientist," Cecil said, rolling over onto his back. "Let's see this grand plan of yours. I hope it's as—"

But Cecil never finished the sentence because in one quick movement, Carlos straddled him and silenced him with a hot, wet kiss, heavy with tongue. Cecil made a startled sound, muffled by Carlos' mouth, which quickly devolved into a series of moans as Carlos ran his tongue along Cecil's teeth and the roof of his mouth before sliding it along Cecil's own tongue.

After several hot, breathless minutes, Carlos finally came up for air, both of them panting heavily. Cecil's fingers were twined into Carlos' hair, and Carlos had Cecil's shoulders pinned under his palms.

"As enjoyable as this is," Cecil said breathlessly, "what does it have to do with the song?"

"Did you know I used to be in choir?" Carlos said.

"What?"

"In high school. And a little in college, too. I gave it up when I started to get really involved with my scientific studies, but I still like to sing every now and then."

"I didn't know that." Cecil's voice had gone into that high-pitched, almost squeaky place that meant he was super flustered and trying to hide it. Carlos suppressed a grin. His plan was working even better than he anticipated.

"Do you want to hear me sing, Cecil?"

"Yes! Please, Carlos—"

"Shhhhhh." Carlos pressed a finger to Cecil's lips. "This time, I'll use my voice. You just listen."

Carlos leaned in close to Cecil's ear. For all his outward confidence, he was still nervous about singing for Cecil. After all, when you're married to the person with the most beautiful voice in town, how do you impress him with your own, much less impressive one? Still, Carlos drew courage from Cecil's reaction to his earlier confession, took a breath, and began to sing in time with the music.

_"That certain night/the night we met/there was magic abroad in the air…"_

Carlos' voice was a bit rusty at first, a bit out of practice, but as he continued to sing, it came back to him. The right resonances, the places in his body the sound had to go to give it the richest vibrations. He could feel Cecil shuddering beneath him; his husband was many things, but good at concealing his arousal was not one of them.

_"And as we kissed/and said good night/a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square…"_

The song was appropriate for the two of them, Carlos thought. Between the lyrics' little oddities (the idea of the moon watching them, for example, or of angels dining in town, although here they'd be more likely to be found at the Moonlight All-Night Diner than at any posh hotel) and the dreamy sort of mood the melody created…well, it reminded him of his and Cecil's first date. That was the real reason he liked the song—he'd liked it since high school, actually, when the jazz ensemble had performed it for competition, but he liked it even more now, listening to it playing in Night Vale, thinking of his first date with his husband while his husband melted underneath him.

"Carlos," Cecil breathed when Carlos finished. "That was…that was beautiful."

"Take your clothes off," Carlos whispered, before rolling off him. Cecil groaned in protest and reached for him, but Carlos batted his hand away. "Off, Cecil."

Cecil sat up and began wrestling his clothes off his body. Carlos couldn't help but chuckle at the way Cecil's eagerness inhibited his ability to undo buttons and zippers—and Cecil's outfit had quite a few of them. Carlos undressed swiftly, and when his dork of a husband had won his battle against his own clothes, Carlos straddled him again, this time reaching for the bedside drawer, where a bottle of glowing, moonlight-scented lube was the most easily accessible item (because it was the most often used). Carlos squeezed some into his hand and warmed it between his palms before slicking up his and Cecil's cocks and tossing the bottle onto the bed beside them.

Carlos ground down against his husband, and Cecil whimpered helplessly, fingernails scrabbling at Carlos' back. Carlos kissed his forehead gently before grinding down hard, setting a rough and uneven pace as their cocks slid together, the friction glorious and intimate.

He leaned down to whisper into Cecil's ear again. "Do you want me to fuck you, Cecil?"

Cecil made an incoherent moaning noise.

"Use your words, darling."

"Yes, Carlos. Please." Cecil's voice was broken, desperate, and Carlos' heart melted.

"Okay. Give me a minute to get you ready."

Carlos reached for the lube again, but Cecil grabbed his wrist.

"Carlos?"

"Yes, love?"

"Will you sing for me? While you do it?"

"Of course."

Carlos had done a lot of multitasking in his life, but this was a first—singing as he fingered his husband, thankful that he knew the words backwards and forwards, because it left him enough focus to make sure he was taking care of Cecil, to make sure he was relaxed and open enough to be comfortable. Cecil, for his part, was a dreamy mess, his eyes fluttering open and shut as he listened, ecstatically, to Carlos' voice.

_"How could he know we two were so in love, the whole darn world seemed upside down?"_

Carlos hitched one of Cecil's legs over his shoulder, something he knew Cecil enjoyed as much as he did, before sliding slowly into him, giving them both plenty of time to adjust. Cecil was making those pretty whimpering sounds again, and Carlos couldn't help but plant kisses on his nose, his cheeks, his neck—even as he began moving in a steady rhythm inside him.

Continuing to sing was even trickier now, inside the tight heat of Cecil's ass, Carlos' own arousal threatening to swallow up his entire brain, but he kept stumbling through for Cecil's sake. He was breathy and off-rhythm, but Cecil didn't seem to mind, at least not if the way the radio host kept moaning his name softly over and over again was any indication. It was an odd medley of sounds—Cecil's longing moans, Carlos' quiet singing, the mattress squeaking underneath them, and, above it all, Harry Connick, Jr., for his twenty-fifth consecutive hour, crooning about the angels at the Ritz.

Carlos didn't count how many times the song played while he was inside Cecil—the words stay on loop in his mouth, his body moving in rhythm against Cecil's, until Cecil came with a cry, his back arching gorgeously against the mattress. Carlos slowed to a stop, letting Cecil come down before asking "Can I keep going?" Cecil nodded, gaze unfocused, and Carlos picked up his rhythm, his singing forgotten, not needing more than another minute or so before he came, too, Cecil's name on his lips.

Saxophone music played as they came down from their orgasms, Cecil's leg sliding off Carlos' shoulder and Carlos rolling them both over so he could spoon Cecil, running his fingers idly up and down his chest.

"So what do you think, babe?" Carlos said when they finally came back to themselves. "Has the song been redeemed?"

"What do you want me to make you for dinner?" Cecil said, and Carlos laughed.


End file.
